Tommy Ramone

Rock'n'roll has splintered into countless subgenres since its birth more than 50 years ago but none sharper or more jagged than punk. Fourteen tracks in less than 30 minutes pressed on jet-black vinyl-- the Ramones' self-titled debut stands firmly as one of a handful of albums that gave legitimacy not only to punk, but also the very notion of alternative music. Loud but sensitive, simple but intelligent, clad in black leather, ripped denim, and beat up Chuck Taylors...the Ramones birthed a half-dozen of your favorite indie cliches, and demystified rock'n'roll into a viable career path for multiple generations of artists.

And while much has been written about the Ramones' musical legacy, the recent DVD release of 2003's intimate documentary End of the Century: The Story of the Ramones, pries open their relatively unknown personal history with crowbar-like force. Exposing 20 years of in-fighting, drug addiction, stolen girlfriends, and tragic deaths-- the film presents as unrelenting a portrait of the seminal group as fans are likely to get. And as dangerous as that sounds to a band whose image was every bit as vital as their three-chord attack, End of the Century only deepens one's respect for the Ramones...taking away none of the duochromatic mystery so starkly laid out on the cover of their first album.

The film is also a sad reminder that only one original Ramone remains to carry on the band's legacy: Tommy. As drummer on their first three albums-- and producer of five of their LPs-- Tommy Ramone has long been cited as the group's musical director. Hoping for further insight into the Ramones' gritty history, including questions raised throughout the documentary, Pitchfork recently spoke with our last punk godfather, Tommy Ramone.

Pitchfork: In End of the Century, Johnny cites you as the one who kept pushing the guys into starting a band. Did you have any kind of plan as to how you wanted the Ramones to sound?

Tommy Ramone: I had seen the New York Dolls, and the idea was just to get a charismatic, sort of quirky band together. But then when we got together, they were coming up with really great songs, which I hadn't even thought about. Once I saw that, I said, "Wow, they could be more, they could be a real band." Basically from what they were coming up with musically, once I became the drummer I harnessed it and arranged it, and we turned it into what became the Ramones sound.

Pitchfork: Did you have any idea that you were creating something new?

TR: Oh yeah, I realized as soon as I heard the songs. I knew this was totally an original and futuristic. That was definitely the idea behind what we were doing. We were trying to bring back fun music, bring back the essence of rock'n'roll. That was a conscious effort.

Pitchfork: There's such a raw, tribal feel to your drumming style, how did that evolve?

TR: I just played what I wanted to hear, what I thought was necessary. I designed the drum parts specifically for the songs-- they were constructed in a way that would fit the songs perfectly. They would wrap around the songs, or the songs would wrap around the drums. The whole thing has to work as a unit, sort of as a framework. We tried to coordinate everything so that everything would be one unit like that. The closest things to an influence would be people like Charlie Watts or Al Jackson. But, I didn't really listen to drummers, I basically played what I thought was needed for the Ramones.

Pitchfork: Where did the speed come from?

TR: I think it was more Johnny, because he was a baseball pitcher and loved throwing fastballs. And as funny as that sounds, I think it had a lot to do with it. He was impatient, and I think it was the combination of his impatience, love of speed, and wanting to get his own virtuosity across.

Pitchfork: And what about the name?

TR: Dee Dee. I think Paul McCartney used to call himself Paul Ramon when he checked into hotels, and Dee Dee was a big Paul McCartney fan. He thought it was a laugh.

Pitchfork: How long did it take for the band's signature sound to come together?

TR: Those first few practices were hilarious. Joey was actually on drums at first, and he had a unique kind of choppy style, and the drums would be falling apart every time. After every song everything would be in shambles, literally. But they were fun, the early rehearsals. Then we got serious, and we started getting the stuff tight. So it was a period of about six months to a year.

Pitchfork: There's a romanticized idea of CBGB's as this kind of mecca where so many influential punk/new wave bands got their start, all trying to offer an alternative to disco and prog-rock. Did you ever feel like you were part of some great movement?

TR: Not at the time, it was just kind of a cool place. We were just happy to have a place to play, and it was kind of cozy and homey. At the very beginning it wasn't crowded at all, you know, it was just a bar with a little stage in it. You'd get all sorts of bands play there originally, but the best of the bands rose to the top, and we all became close friends. People like the Talking Heads, Blondie, and Television. After about a year of doing that, Hilly Kristal, the owner, put on a festival. Then we realized it was an actual scene.

Pitchfork: That scene, and the Ramones sound specifically, meant a lot to a handful of English bands-- the Sex Pistols, the Damned, the Clash. What did you think when you started hearing your influence on these bands halfway around the world?

TR: It was twofold. We were happy that there were other people interested in our music, and we were excited that these English bands were coming up, but it was also competitive. We didn't enjoy the competition, but we were glad other people were picking up on it. So if you could imagine, that's kind of the way it was.

Pitchfork: What were the Ramones like in the studio? Did your role as producer create any tension or change the band dynamic at all?

TR: No, actually they very much appreciated it. I was pretty much on my own. They would come in and do the basic tracks, and Joey would do the vocals, and then I wouldn't see them for about a month or two. I was just left alone to work on the album.

Songwriting and recording went very smoothly. We would be well-prepared, we'd go in, and we'd just put the stuff down. They all had, like, attention deficit or something, they were ready to leave. Everything was done quickly. We didn't hang together too much. Mostly we'd just get together for rehearsals and stuff like that.

Pitchfork: You stopped drumming after the third Ramones album (1977's Rocket to Russia), but stayed on to produce. Was it difficult handing over the drums to Marky?

TR: No, it was great! We worked well together. I wanted to bring in a drummer so that I wouldn't have to deal with the road. It was hard on the road for me, because those guys were ganging up on me and everything. I was sort of in charge in the studio, and I'd go out on the road and I'd be like just the abused drummer. Let's bring a drummer in who will not take the abuse, and could beat the crap out of them, and it was great.

So I worked really well with Mark, and we combined his style with my style. We spent a lot of time getting the drum parts together for Road to Ruin (the bands fourth album, and Marky's debut).

Pitchfork: I think a lot of people tend to overlook the evolution of the band musically, which started with Road to Ruin. Youu guys tried a lot of different things. A song like "Questioningly" could almost be a Tom Petty tune! How open was the band to branching out?

TR: We were coming up with these great records that weren't selling well. So we were basically trying to have a hit record, so on that album [End of the Century ] we were trying to get on the radio. We were trying to put songs together where radio couldn't say, "Oh, we can't play that because it wouldn't fit our format." So on that album there are certain songs that could be played on any radio station. And so that's kind of partially what that was about, but it was more than that. They were coming up with songs like that, and so we arranged the songs to sound radio-friendly.

Pitchfork: So you didn't have to twist Johnny's arm to do an actual guitar solo?

TR: Um. Right. [laughs]

Pitchfork: After that album you parted ways with the Ramones for a number of years. When you came back to produce Too Tough to Die in '84 did you notice a lot of changes within the group?

TR: Yeah, they weren't talking to each other. They were in separate camps. For me it was the same . My work procedure was exactly the same-- it was like I never left. But the band itself was very different.

Pitchfork: That was the last album you worked on with them. How was it for you just watching the rest of their career play out but acting only as an observer?

TR: It was interesting. I don't know. They were basically coming up with some good songs, and bringing in different producers-- some of them more suitable than others. I don't know, they were just trying to have a hit record. And I was just standing by watching it.

Pitchfork: What was your relationship like with them like during that time?

TR: It was very cordial, friendly. I would see every show they would do when they came to town.

Pitchfork: Did you have any input? I know Dee Dee would still give them a couple songs every now and then after he left.

TR: Well, no, they never asked for it.

Pitchfork: Did you ever think about rejoining?

TR: No, no. There was a situation I think, when they had a feud with Marky or something, where they asked me to fill in for awhile, but no. I left for a purpose. I had no intention of rejoining. I wanted to work with them, but not on the road as a drummer.

Pitchfork: What did you think of the band's retirement?

TR: I don't think they should have, I thought they should have gone on. I thought they should have taken six months to a year off, and then started doing it in a more low-key, less stressful way. But then, I didn't know how sick Joey was. I don't know if they could have done it, or would have wanted to, but they were ready to retire.

Pitchfork: Johnny and Joey were both sick for a number of years, but did Dee Dee's death take you by surprise?

TR: Yeah. Dee Dee was abusing himself for years and years and years, and he was always fine. So it was a shock, yeah. In the early days I was living with Dee Dee for a little while, and he was never around then either. He would always be out. He was kind of an energetic guy who was always on the run. His line was always "I gotta go," and he was always on his way.

Pitchfork: Can you even put into words how if feels to be the last original member?

TR: I try not to think of it that way. It's just too bizarre. It's just too weird to really contemplate too much. A very sad situation...

Pitchfork: I know it's difficult to speculate, but do you think there would have been a chance for a reunion later on?

TR: I don't know. I think it would have depended probably on Johnny, because he was very adamant about retiring. Maybe if he would have gotten bored enough or something?

Pitchfork: The Ramones influence can be heard in generation upon generation of new bands, most notably with grunge in the early 90s, and with the recent garage rock revival. People seem to need to have music stripped back to the basics every few years. What do you think of the constant resurgence of that?

TR: I think it's great. I think they do have a need for that. It seems like the genre itself is becoming like a classic genre, where it's basically a blueprint that can be used and reused for the same quality effect. So, it's great, it's amazing actually.

Pitchfork: What was it like being at the Rock'n'roll Hall of Fame induction and looking back on the punk landscape 20 years on, and have it be as much a part of music, and music history as any classic rock genre?

TR: First, it was important because it validated what we were doing. Most of the people who are given these Rock'n'roll Hall of Fame things sell millions of records, so it's kind of like a trophy for them. But for the Ramones, it really was a symbolic gesture of, "Yes, you guys are special, and are important to rock'n'roll." So in that sense, the Roll Hall of Fame served it's purpose. So that was cool.

Pitchfork: One of the things the film End of the Century shines a huge spotlight on is the incredible tension in the band. Was it like that all the time? Do you have many memories of the band actually having fun together?

TR: The Ramones were not about having a good time. The closest thing probably was maybe Joey and Dee Dee might have had some good times, but it was almost like a work ethic. We were out there to basically to get the fans to see the Ramones. There was a good sense of humor and all that stuff, but the environment was very harsh. It really was.

Pitchfork: I think it's tough for fans to hear that because you want your favorite band to be friends, and to all be working together for this great cause.

TR: It's not as grim as the movie makes it out. The movie slants it that way. There were lighter moments, and basically the band gave each other room to breathe, and it's like that in any band. I don't think it's that peculiar just in the Ramones, I think 90% of the bands out there are like that.

When you get talented people together with egos, this is kind of what happens. A lot of friction was involved. But the Ramones, they were also like a family. We were like brothers in a way, but it was a very competitive sibling rivalry type of environment. And that's just the way things are. I mean, it should have no effect on fans, and their enjoyment of the music, because we loved making the music, we loved writing the songs, we loved performing the songs...we loved performing. But that's the way it is. These volatile people come up with these songs. A lot of the Ramones sound comes from tension, so it was just a necessary part of their thing.